


To stand together

by silvercolour



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Future au technically, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, The End of Days, at some point far in the future The End happens anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24060739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercolour/pseuds/silvercolour
Summary: All things must end, and here at the End of Everything Aziraphale does not want to be alone.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	To stand together

It’s been centuries since they have last seen each other, when Aziraphale sees Crowley across the battlefield.

Crowley looks incandescent to his eyes, aglow with power, dark wings almost melting into the darker sky above the fields. He is fierce with mad fire, merciless to any who stand in his way and coldly ignores those who cower away from his path.

There are many who choose to stand- after all, angels are not cowards.

Angels are not cowards. This has been drilled into them since the Beginning, time and again. An angel is brave. An angel stands, and fights for what is right.

As Aziraphale looks around the bloodsoaked fields he sees very little that seems right, or righteous. Demons and angels face each other here on these Last of Days, hereditary enemies, destined and doomed to fight and fall.

A demon rushes him, covered in white-hot flames, screeching in anger and in pain, and Aziraphale isn’t sure whether it is self defense that raises his sword-arm, or duty, or pity for this suffering creature. Perhaps it can be all of them, he supposes, thoughts distant from the flaming sword his hand brings down upon the already burning demon.

* * *

The fields shift, but the battle never ends. Parts of the ground are now sunk into the water, and those who can have taken to the sky, leaving behind those wingless ones to struggle against nature, and fate, and others unfortunate enough to share their destiny.

Aziraphale too has taken to the sky, and has slain yet more demons, and though he attempts to help his siblings, other angels reject his aid.

“An angel stands,” they say as they shake off his reaching hands. An angel stands, or they fall. They do not stop, and bend down, and help one another. An angel stands. Alone.

The demons, Aziraphale has seen, do not help their brethren either. An angel stands alone, but so, it seems, do demons.

Across the skies Aziraphale sees Crowley(he has never lost track of him). His wings are part of the sky that burns around him, but the flames in his eyes and the glow of his power seem colourless now. He is fading (they all are).

A vein of light spears down at Crowley from the darkness above where Aziraphale cannot see. The flash that follows the impact is so bright that for a moment he cannot see Crowley. Even before the light ebbs away Aziraphale is moving, his wings beating a counterpoint to his fearful heartbeat. 

The distance is far too great to reach in time. He sees Crowley dive down, his movements slow, as though submerged. The demon tries to get his wings under him again, and lands- not gracefully, or painlessly. But he lands, and does not crash.

Aziraphale barely avoids crashing into the murky rising waters as he lands beside Crowley.

Crowley twists, raises his spear- and then wavers as he sees who he faces. Aziraphale cannot put away his sword, not here in plain view of both hordes. Crowley’s eyes are wild, uncertain, and haunted. Aziraphale feels much the same.

Aziraphale nods, in greeting, and in acquiescence to their situation. Crowley closes his eyes for but a moment, as blood begins to trickle down his temple. “Angel.” His voice is harsh, but in it Aziraphale hears the same bitter acceptance he feels, and that he has seen all around him.

And this is what breaks Aziraphale, when all the bloody violence, and death, and despair could not. Hearing this tone of cold, raw acceptance of fate from the demon he calls friend, from the one being with whom he has fought- and even defied- fate.

An angel stands. Alone.

But for what reason? What is it worth if they all stand alone, and die alone. What will be left in the end? Aziraphale has a sneaking suspicion that what will be left is absolutely nothing.

“Let’s not, Crowley, please let us not.” A plea, and an offer.

Crowley looks close to tears. “Angel- Aziraphale. We’ve always known we were enemies. There’s no way, you know there isn’t.”

Aziraphale takes a step, about to protest, when Crowley continues, his voice now soft: “I don’t remember much from before my Fall, angel, but I remember what they teach you- what they taught all of us. Angels stand alone against the forces of evil.”

“No.”

“No? Angel, this isn’t a debate, this isn’t a question of willing, or wishing things were different. It just. Is.” Crowley sounds angry, but his eyes are desperate. Desperate to be wrong, desperate for an alternative, desperate-

Desperate not to be alone. Aziraphale recognizes that look at least, recognizes it from his own face in the mirrors in the grey days leading up to this battle. He recognizes it from before they left their lives for these battlefields, and this war. 

Crowley sees Aziraphale noticing it, and averts his eyes.

“Crowley,” he coaxes, voice gentle as he extends a hand. “Please, let’s not fight. I-“

The words die in his throat at the importance, the sinfulness of what he is about to say.

Crowley stays silent, his eyes imploring Aziraphale to stop, to forget everything, to not risk himself for Crowley.

Hand still raised for Crowley to take, Aziraphale finds the words at last.

“I would rather fight at your side and die a Fallen angel, than harm you, my dearest Crowley.”

A tear runs down Crowley’s cheek as he reaches for Aziraphale’s hand.

“I would never have harmed you, my angel.”

And as they take to the sky once more they continue to hold each other’s hand, clinging to the contact like a lifeline, here at the end of days.

**Author's Note:**

> I made myself sad writing this, I’m so sorry- I didn’t want to suffer alone...   
> Let me know what you think! Want me to write something less sad? Throw a prompt my way in the comments, or [here on tumblr](https://silver-colour.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
